Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Frowning, I stood up. “I can probably do it after work this week, but it might take me a couple days.”
Her face lit up. “I don’t mind. You can be here as much as you’d like.”
I nodded. “I’ll start tomorrow.”
“That’s just perfect, Mr. Woods.”
“Ryan.”
“Ryan. What a nice name, so sturdy and strong. Is it a family name?”
“Uh, not that I know of.”
“I believe it’s Irish. Are you Irish?”
“A little.”
“Same here! I was born a McMahon. And where did you grow up, dear?”
“Ohio.”
“A Midwesterner. I just love Midwesterners. So friendly and traditional. Such nice manners. And did I hear somewhere you were in the military?”
My jaw clenched reflexively. I hated the idea that there was talk going around about me, but I suppose it was inevitable in a small town. “The Marine Corps.”
She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “A Marine! Well, no wonder you’re so big and strong. And such a gentleman, too. Why, my own daughters moved out of state, leaving me here alone to fend for myself. If it weren’t for you and my grandchildren and my bridge group and my book club, I’d have no visitors at all. Did I tell you my granddaughter Stella is coming to visit me?”
“Yes,” I answered, thinking again of the pretty blond in the photo.
Mrs. Gardner thumped herself on the head. “Of course I did. I’m going completely dotty, Mr. Woods. One of these days, I’m going to forget my own name. My Frank was in the Navy,” she went on in the same breath. “Signed up after Pearl Harbor, when he was just seventeen. I was devastated when he shipped out. I cried for days. But he came back in one piece, thank heavens. And so did you.”
Sometimes I wondered if that was true. “I should get going.”
“Of course, dear. I’ll just go in and get those cookies for you.”
I wanted to tell her not to bother, but then I thought about how soft and sweet those cookies had been. What else did I have to look forward to tonight? “Thank you.”
While she was inside, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and texted Mack.
Any big projects this week? My neighbor asked for my help replacing some boards on her porch.
He replied right away with a smart ass comment.
What a hero.
Fuck off.
Nothing big this week that I know of. I’ll check with DeSantis.
Henry DeSantis was the winemaker and vineyard manager at Cloverleigh, and I spent about a third of my time working for him, and the rest for Mack, who was the general business manager and oversaw all construction and landscaping projects. Mack was also a Marine buddy and the closest thing I had to a brother. He’d gotten me the job at Cloverleigh.
“Here you are, dear.” Mrs. Gardner came out the squeaky screen door and handed me the plate of cookies, now covered with tin foil. “Enjoy.”
“Thanks. I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“That’s perfect. Bye now.” She gave a little wave and I took off down the steps and across the front yard toward my house.
It was similar to hers, but in much worse condition. Same Victorian farmhouse style, same wide front porch, although hers had a swing at one end and lots of hanging flower baskets. Same interior layout with a living room at the front, dining room in the middle, master bedroom off the dining room, and kitchen in the back. I’d never been upstairs in Mrs. Gardner’s house, but I assumed it had three bedrooms and one full bath off a central hall. It was definitely more space than I needed, but Mack knew the realtor was looking to get someone in there who might be able to help get it in shape for selling in the spring. It probably needed way more money put into it—the kitchen was ugly and ancient—but I was making progress with the rest of the house, at least cosmetically.
So far I’d painted the entire exterior, landscaped the front and back yard, and replaced or repaired woodwork and tile grout on the interior. The roof and electrical were beyond my skill set, but the realtor said he’d hire someone for those things. I planned to spend the winter repainting the interior rooms and refinishing floors.
I let myself in the front door and headed through the living room, which held exactly two things—a couch, which I’d bought along with a mattress at some furniture liquidation place, and a flat screen TV, the only thing I took from the house Brie and I’d shared.
I was living out of a duffle bag and sleeping on a mattress on the floor, which was pretty pathetic at age thirty-four, but I still wasn’t sure where I was going to end up ultimately, so I didn’t see the point in buying a bunch of furniture.
Sometimes I wasn’t sure I saw the point in much of anything.